I grew up at a mental institution just outside of a small Canadian town called Picton. The doctors called me subject 9, or S9 for short. So, that is who I am. S9.
The story you are about to read was written by me, S9. Therefore, if you find the content inside of the story to be crazy, that's because it is, as S9, me, is a crazy person. However, I'm not going to reside in this institution for long, as the days grow shorter, whereas when I first arrived here, the days grew longer, they did. Yes.
I don't remember when I got here, but I think I was young. I really don't know how young, as I fail to remember past dates. I do know that I was younger than five, as I remember eating a stale birthday cake with green fuzzy spots attached to it. Moss, I think they called it. That was my 5th birthday, meaning I was here at this institution before I was five. Yes.
I also don't think I know how old I am now, as I no longer receive birthday celebration, like normal kids. So, S9 could be older than you, or older than me, S9. No, wait. I can't be older than me, S9. But I could be older than you, not S9.
Alright, let me tell you about the institution. The walls are a pale white, with these tiny little bumpy things on them. Texture, I think? Yes.
So anyways, the walls are white, and there are about more than ten long hallways. One of these hallways leads to a bunch of tiny floors that raise up the more you walk on them. Stairs, they were called, stairs. When you went up these stairs, you find another ten hallways, each with the same white walls. They also had doors on the walls, doors that let you walk into rooms. I used to walk into rooms, but I was soon beaten by the very large person in white. S9 no go in rooms anymore. No. Bad pain.
I have a room. It's the only room I'm allowed to go into. My room has a bed, and is on the second highest hallway from the ground. There is no white water tank to pee into, but there is a brown one. I don't like it.
There is also a window that has seven lines in front of it. These lines are hard, and are cold. I also cannot move them. I was told that these lines were there for my safety. To stop the sane from terrorizing my head images when S9 go to sleep. The sane are everywhere, I was told. They enjoy hurting people like S9, and they do it for fun, they do. Yes.
The sane are mean, and they don't have beating heart things in their body.
Thump. Thump. Thump. I have a heart. See? I do, yes. That's because S9 not sane. S9 is me. Yes. Me.
I was told to fear the sane, as they hurt people like me. People with a mind lower than the other mind. So yes, S9 fear the sane. The sane bad.
But the lines over the window are no longer still. They're moving, yes. Two of the lines have fallen down, leaving the window open for the sane to enter. I don't like the sane. I hate the sane. The sane make S9, me, angry.
S9 will go through these lines to leave the institution. To rid the world of the sane. I kill the sane, and eat their broken hearts. Chocolate hearts taste good. Sane hearts must taste better. Yes. Okay.
But, how do I enter the window without leaving my room? If S9 leave room, S9 feel pain. Pain is bad. Sane is badder. The large white men will understand. I kill sane, and the large white men reward me with food! Yes. S9 need to eat. Sane need to die. Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart is still beating. That good sign. Yes. S9 good.